


forget

by still_intrepid



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Supernatural Elements, mysterious happenings, painter!Italy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 13:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3210359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_intrepid/pseuds/still_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suddenly, he's a stranger everywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forget

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet for [Lana](http://lanas-aphrontistery.tumblr.com/) who requested FeliFeli and something about one of them not recognising the other. Which, you know, could have just meant "ooh you got a haircut, it looks really different, nice!" but _noo_ , I had to go this this uber-dramatic route with attempt at gentle-mysterious atmosphere of which I am so fond.

"There is no class today!" the painter calls out, but the knock on the studio door is repeated.

"Can I come in anyway?" someone asks.

The painter considers.  “Do I owe you money, signore?”

"No."

"Come in and welcome!"

The door eases open, and the painter’s eyes go wide in surprise.

"Do I know you?" he asks.

"I don’t think so," says the stranger warily.  He is of a small, neat stature, with very yellow hair above his dark and shabby clothes.  "I wanted to see you painting."

"Ooh, a fan!  I would greet you properly—and offer you sweets and coffee!  But as you see I am busy right now.  And it would be a very bad habit for me to keep food and drink in the studio, I would quickly become a very fat painter!  Or a very _dead_ painter, with paint and other inedibles near to hand, and it’s very easy to lose track when I’m concentrating, hm.  Right now I must continue to paint while the light from the window… would you mind taking, ah, three steps to the left? Grazie.”  He looks up from his easel again.  “You won’t be bored?  Have a look around if you like!”

"Thank you."

"Ah—but, just there, don’t move—the light…"

"Oh…"  The stranger looks about his very immediate surroundings and lights on a small table covered as is every surface in the room with a heavy dusting of papers and sketches.  He flicks through the pile and stops at a rather poor charcoal of a horse in motion, drawn by an artist whose ambition outstripped his talent.  "Hey, look, it’s one of mine."

"Hm?  But… you’ve never been to one of my classes, or been here before?"

The stranger frowns down at the smudgy horse, chewing his lower lip.  “…It doesn’t matter,” he mutters at last.  “The thing is: as soon as I leave today you’re going to forget all about me.  I was here before.  But something happened and now _everyone forgets_ , like I don’t exist.”

The painter’s brush deposits a blob of yellow in his chestnut hair as his hand flies instinctively to his mouth.  “It does matter!  How terribly lonely that must be.”

“ _Yeah_.  Wait.”  The stranger’s brow furrows.  “What?  You believe me?”

"Surely!  Why wouldn’t I?"

"Why _would_ you, it sounds crazy.”

"Well, I’m an artist."  He makes a little bow.  "Were we friends?"

"I think so."

The painter is torn between his easel and a desire to skip over and catch the stranger up in a messy, painty hug.  He makes a few more quick strokes on the canvas.  “I suppose…” he begins, “have you ever heard of these stories, and there is a curse, from the gods, or a witch, or someone else, you understand…  You sound to me like you’re under a curse!  And so, shall I kiss you?  If you think that would help, I wouldn’t mind trying it.  I wouldn’t mind anyway.”

"You are _such_ a crazy artist!” the stranger exclaims with a laugh that convulses his throat like a sob.  “And such a Florentine.  You suggested that before!”

"Did I?"

"Yes!"

"And…" The painter smiles mischievously, "did we?  It isn’t fair if you remember and I don’t. I want a full poetic description of the entire thing, I’m going to paint it—"

"No!" the stranger interrupts, flushing darkly and looking away.  "Like you said, you wouldn’t remember so, so it wouldn’t be fair.  And.  Anyway."

"…if we never tried it, how do we know that it might not break the curse…?"

“ _It’s not like that!!”_ the stranger explodes.  “And it’s not funny.”

"Oh, no," the painter says, instantly contrite.  "I know.  It’s not funny at all."  He concentrates on his painting for a while in silence.

"This sucks," the stranger mutters.  "Every time I leave you, it gets harder.  You’re always so nice and friendly even though I’m just no one.  Like, you’d be amazed at how many people are less than fine with letting a random stranger in for tea and dolci."

"Then, do you have to leave?"

"Yes."

"Let’s have a drink and something to eat first."

"I thought you were busy painting?"

The painter takes a deep breath, in and out.  “It’s finished,” he says.  “Come and see.  I admit I was sort of keeping you talking while I just finished the last things.”

The feet of the easel screech on the tiled floor as he angles it around. 

The stranger looks at the painting— _and out of it_.

The face in the picture a little fuller, less wan, his hair still brighter, and the painter’s brush has rekindled the dying embers of light in his eyes into blazing green flame, but it is indisputably the same face.  He looks at once older and eternally young, like an angel, and like the angels need to reassure us “ _do not fear_ " he instantly commands reverence. 

"But you can’t have done all this just now!" the stranger breathes.

"No.  I’ve been working on it for weeks, a month."

"Then…"  He sinks down onto a stool with his hands over his mouth. 

"I don’t remember you," the painter says, "I don’t remember you with my mind, and that’s strange, and I’m so so sorry, but I remember you with my eyes.  With my heart.  My paintbrush remembers you."

"This is amazing.  That’s me.  That’s totally _me_ , right there, like, on a really good day.  And I’ve _never seen you painting before_ , not since.  You did that when I wasn’t here.  You _remember_ me!”

" _Yes!_   Just—hey, are you feeling alright?  I forgot, I was going to get you sweeties and things, you must be hungry!  Ve, first…"  Quick as a flash he picks up his paintbrush and dabs two spots of paint on the stranger’s face.  "Bit of colour in your cheeks."

"Heyy."

"Sorry, I wanted to do that.  Since I can’t kiss you.  I’ll help you wash it off."

"Nah, it’s fine.  It’ll be a talking point for whichever other of my friends that don’t remember me I meet today."

"Maybe I’ll remember you next time, properly."

"Maybe.  I don’t think so.  Will you… are you going to sell the painting?"

"Never.  I’ll keep it here.  I’ll keep it on the wall and look at it everyday."

"Thank you.  But… that’ll be pretty strange for you though, right?  I’ll just be there like haunting you, this face you can’t place."

"You do haunt me," the painter whispers.  "I don’t remember you, but I do know you.  I’m sorry for what’s happened to you."

"It doesn’t matter.  I mean, I’ll fix it, I definitely will.  I mean—it isn’t your fault."

"I wish I could do something to help."

"Heh.  I’m pretty sure you already have."

**Author's Note:**

> —is it an AU? Not necessarily.
> 
> (And still the quest for more Feli+Feli goes on........)


End file.
